Текст песни Lloyd Banks feat 50 Cent - Banks Victory

[50 Cent]
Yo, yo we can't stay alive forever
So if shit hit the fan then we might as well die together
I'm high as ever, more holes and more cheddar
G-Unit move around wit them pounds and Beretta's
Yea faggot, if I want it I'm gon' have it
Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it
Don't make a ass outta yaself tryin to stop me
I'm cocky, raps rocky, n*gga you sloppy
You know that I'm, 8 levels above you n*gga
I'll club you n*gga, I never heard of you n*gga, ugly n*gga
I'm the wrong one to provoke
You rattin' on n*ggas is only gon' leave you smoke
So the only thing left now is tools for these cowards
I got no friends, f*ck most of these cowards
They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards
While we lay around dollars, they lay around flowers

[Lloyd Banks]
I got a intergangstress who argue and steams wit reefer
And who flip when I call a b*tch like she Queen Latifah
Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper
This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker
We slidin' through the ruckus, wit prada on the chuckus
Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna f*ck us
I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas
I'll sick Rottweiler's on you f*ckas, cops followin' to cuff us
Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros
When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero
I'ma break before I lay floor berry
Besides, every rapper ain't a star, n*gga plad ain't bulbary
You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen
You changin' the channel looks like I'm playin' the game boy
I know to watch botherin' ya vision
You reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion
Why party wit a pigeon?
I'm blowin' a 10 cuz Bush handin' flyers for a party in a prison
I'm in the Gucci vest wit the green and red straps
I'm the last rapper to scare n*ggas since Craig Mack
Now every morning's a fast start
And there ain't problem gettin' dressed cuz my closet got more aisles than pathmark
Run, move startin' a wave
and leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs
I'm the young pimp pardon my age
I don't got long hair but if I did she be puttin my braids
N*ggas find what club they at
Take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway mac
Get advances from grey agra
See these record labels got most artists gettin' f*cked like the gay rappa
I go the college on the tour
I'm goin' down in history n*gga, next to Wallace and Shakur
I keep ya ammo clean, text polished in the drawer
Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor
By now, you probably heard of me
Fresh outta surgery, flashy as a f*ck, you gon' have to murder me
Burglary, I'm leavin' witcha nike's bergendy, White T, bergendy
You match now, back down
N*ggas love to hate you, but love you when you disappear
Catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and official gear
Heavy when I toke, C notes from different years
Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin' chairs
You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya
I send cars to crib like I'm a cab dispatcha
You better off wit ya stupid guys, lookin for a coupe to drive
You ain't gettin' nuttin but ya french fries supersized
It's a damn shame y'all still local
I'm in a million dollar studio layin' my vocals
N*gga

[50 Cent]
Still in the projects n*gga, you ain't goin' nowhere
You gon' f*ckin be there for the rest of yo muthaf*ckin' life
And yo momma said, I'm supposed to tell you somethin'...
To encourage you, somethin' positive
Aight well I ain't gon' lie to you muthaf*cka, he ain't goin' nowhere
Get yaself a beer, get on the f*ckin' curve
F*ckin' dirtbag